


We Could Destroy Each Other (So Give Me the Match and I'll Set it on Fire)

by victoriousscarf



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Academic Historian AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cop characters, Dubious consent because of alcohol, Multi, basically they're all history professors of various fields, no one makes good life choices, who met up at conferences and drink together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:59:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2083008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eyes darting back and forth between the two men, Merrill leaned over to Isabella. “Ooooh, what’s going on here? What did I miss?”</p><p>Isabella had a hand covering her mouth and Anders knew she was trying not to laugh hysterically in his face, which he appreciated greatly. “Just the feud of the field. I’m actually shocked you two haven’t met. I thought for sure one of you had like put dog poo in the other’s shoes and that’s what started this.”</p><p>“No,” Anders grit out. “Just gold old fashioned ideological differences.”</p><p>Varric leaned over to address Merrill. “They’ve been writing articles about each other for the last five years.”</p><p>“Not about each other,” Fenris said, voice still low and mostly even. “Against each other perhaps.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But it's Polite Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> This started from a tumblr post on AUs:
> 
> "before writing your au, consider the following:  
> ...  
> panicked yelling in unison because of lost baggage in between connecting flights au" 
> 
> and somehow it turned into an academic professor AU and I honestly have no idea what has become of my life. This is more a prologue than a full chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I come up with phrases that I think would be great on a graphic... and name my fics that instead.

“What do you mean you lost my luggage!”

Anders blinked. He knew he had been yelling at the poor man behind the luggage desk but his voice never had a growl in it while yelling before and there had certainly be something that sounded a lot like a growl. After another moment he realized the luggage attendant wasn’t even looking straight at him but a little to the side and followed his gaze.

Funny, in the panic the news caused Anders hadn’t even noticed the other man standing beside him who also, it seemed, had lost his luggage. But the instant he did notice, he got horribly distracted from whatever the luggage attendant was trying to say. So that, apparently, was where the growl came from.

Anders wasn’t particularly tall, but he wasn’t particularly short either, somewhere comfortably in the middle of extremes and he still stood almost a head taller than this man with his shockingly white hair and young looking face and… were those tattoos or scars on his throat? Either way, Anders wanted to touch them.

“I’m very sorry,” the attendant said again. “If you’re staying in the area I can—“

“I have to catch another plane!” Anders blurted, finally paying attention again. “In an hour and a half!”

“As do I,” said the man standing next to him and there was that growl again.

“Is your luggage labeled?” the attendant asked hopefully after a beat.

“Yes, of course,” Anders said, wondering what had made him decide to match getting home from his research trip with the start of the conference, when he had too much luggage already, let alone room for more books and was coming from a different continent.

The man beside him however hesitated. “I think so,” he said finally and got a sheet of paper shoved at him, a matching one going to Anders.

“Either way, please fill out a way to contact you and a description of your luggage.”

Quickly scribbling the information down, Anders considered craning his neck to see the other man’s name but before he could the other man handed the piece of paper back to the attendant. All Anders caught sight of was very neat handwriting and the fact that his bag was black.

Which, considering everything the man was wearing including the messenger bag with him was black, really didn’t strike Anders as surprising. As he started to turn away Anders finished as fast as his hand would move and jogged after him. “Hey,” he called and the man tilted his head slightly to acknowledge hearing him but did not stop or slow down. “Man, that sucks doesn’t it? I mean, loosing luggage sucks anyway but this is just the cake. So where are you heading to from here?”

“That is none of your business,” the man said, not growling but his normal voice was deep and he articulated every word carefully.

“Well, no, but it’s polite conversation,” Anders said and the man turned a scowl up at him. Anders barely managed not to smile at having such a dark scowl coming from so low. “I mean, why not? We’ll probably go through security together too.”

“I rather hope not,” was his reply and the man seemed to speed up but Anders legs were longer so he matched the stride easily.

“Can I at least buy you a drink?” he added hopefully. He wanted to get something out of this horrible mess and the man he was trailing after toward the security line was gorgeous in a strange and wild way.

“No,” the man said again and stepped suddenly, putting a family with four squalling children between them.

“That was low!” Anders called over the mother’s head, earning him a glare and he thought for a second the man might have smiled, a small upturn of the corner of his mouth before he turned away.

With his luck, Anders was stopped for additional screening and by the time he got out into the gates proper the man was long gone. With a heavy sigh, Anders clutched his carry on tightly against his chest and walked toward his gate, buying coffee and another horrible airport thriller to get him through the flight, chalking the strange man up to another lost opportunity. There would always be more.

 Hunkering down in his seat, he flipped through the seat pocket in front of him, fully intending to stick his nose in the thriller and not look back up for the rest of the trip when he thought he heard a quiet but deep “excuse me” and looked up.

Sure enough, there the man was, with his shock of hair and white markings and he was leaning up to stow the messenger bag, black sleeves rolled up on his forearms, which they had not been earlier.

Anders barely got halfway through his book because the man was seated on the aisle, several rows in front of him but Anders could catch a glimpse of his hair every once and a while and he spent a long time trying. He was such a sucker for a pretty face. Isabella would laugh at him if she see the ways he twisted around and tilted his neck back just to see the man’s profile.

-0-

“Oh it was awful, awful,” Anders whined, letting his head fall forward on the bar table. He was going to try very hard not to think about whatever might have been on that table before his hands and forehead.

“It’s just stuff,” Varric said, serene.

“Oh like you’re one to talk,” Anders muttered. “You’re rich, this job is like, like a hobby to you it’s different.”

“History is not a hobby,” Varric sniffed but kindly shoved another beer toward Anders. “Besides, a lot of work goes in to preparing papers for presentations. Don’t knock it.”

“Oh I know it’s a lot of work,” Anders said, drawing the drink closer to his chest and cradling it there. “And you’re very good at what you do. But you’re more capable of replacing a whole suitcase worth of stuff than I am.”

“Remind me again why you came from a trip to Europe straight to a conference?” Isabella asked on his other side. “You know they’ve made customs more annoying.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever been forced to go pick up my luggage and back through security on a connecting flight before,” Anders whined. “When’s Hawke getting here, anyway? These pre-conference drinks are what he lives for, aren’t they?”

“I think conferences are what Hawke lives for,” Isabella said.

“And he doesn’t even spend that much hard work preparing for them either,” Varric laughed. “You know, he once improvised an entire paper on Greek medicine?”

Anders groaned. “Let’s not start making me feel inadequate to Hawke quite this early in the evening, alright? He’s a damned prodigy, we all know.” 

“I have never seen the like in my life, and I never will again,” Varric said, whipping an imaginary tear off his cheek. “You know he was still just a grad student—”

“ _What_ did I just say?” Anders snapped and looked toward the door. “Ah, there’s Hawke,” he said cheerfully and froze because behind Hawke and to the side of Merrill who was chatting at him quite happily stood the man from the airport. White hair and marks and green eyes and dark expression and all. “You’re kidding,” he breathed as Hawke swooped down on their table.

“Friends!” he boomed, actually lifting Varric off his seat to hug him, Anders quickly darting to save his drink from spilling over. “It has been too long!”

“It’s been two months,” Isabella said. “And it’s not like you don’t talk to us between then.”

“But it’s just not the same,” Hawke replied as Merrill slid in between Isabella and Varric, the other man hanging slightly off to the side still. “Oh sit down Fenris, at least pretend you enjoy conferences.”

“But I don’t,” he said, Anders jaw dropping as the other man—Fenris—slid into a seat across from him and between Hawke and Varric.

Anders clicked his jaw back together, cutting off Merrill’s excited babbling. “Wait, sorry, _who_?”

“Oh,” Hawke said with a slow, pleased with himself smile. “Anders, have you met Fenris yet?” Green eyes snapped over to him and narrowed. “He doesn’t like conferences so he doesn’t usually come. I’m not sure you’ve ever met face to face before.”

“You must be joking,” Anders managed.

“Oh,” Isabella drawled. “Not _the_ Fenris?”

“Of course the Fenris,” Hawke said. For a man who went almost exclusively by his last name, Hawke was almost psychotically opposed to using other people’s.

“But you,” Anders gestured, Fenris still glaring at him. “You don’t _look_ like a historian!”

“Funny, I could say the same about most of this table,” Fenris replied, in that low, growly voice of his and Anders thought the temperature actually dropped.

Eyes darting back and forth between the two men, Merrill leaned over to Isabella. “Ooooh, what’s going on here? What did I miss?”

Isabella had a hand covering her mouth and Anders knew she was trying not to laugh hysterically in his face, which he appreciated greatly. “Just the feud of the field. I’m actually shocked you two haven’t met. I thought for sure one of you had like put dog poo in the other’s shoes and that’s what started this.”

“No,” Anders grit out. “Just gold old fashioned ideological differences.”

Varric leaned over to address Merrill. “They’ve been writing articles about each other for the last five years.”

“Not _about_ each other,” Fenris said, voice still low and mostly even. “Against each other perhaps.”

“In opposition to the other’s view,” Varric amended. “Yes, that sounds better anyway. They’re like the next Lewis and Said.”

“Please don’t,” Anders groaned. “I’m not sure I want to be compared to either of them, thanks.” He finally looked back up and yes, Fenris was still staring at him. “So. You’re one of Hawke’s friends then.”

“Yes,” Fenris replied and Anders could have sworn he sounded defensive.

“I love all my strays equally,” Hawke said, leaning back to order another round and ignoring the glare he got from both Anders and Fenris, as well as the somewhat starry eyed expression on Merrill’s face. “Say, Fen, what do you want to drink?”

“Do they have wine?” Fenris asked after a brief pause.

“Oh you have got to be kidding,” Anders said, cradling his beer against his chest again.


	2. I Feel Like This has Escalated Quickly

Fenris was on his third glass of wine, Anders noted because he was paying far more attention than he liked to dwell on. In his defense, the other man was seated almost directly across from him, and the white lines of his throat moved every time he tilted his head back or swallowed.

Anders wondered how many of his students got bad grades for being distracted, or how well his appearance had gone down during the hiring process.

“I gotta say, I’m looking forward to leave next year,” Varric said, popping his shoulders.

“Lucky bastard,” Isabella muttered. “I can’t believe you’re rich and going on leave for a year.”

“I’m working on my next book,” Varris said, shrugging and grinning through he had the grace not to actually laugh at Isabella. “It’s going to be a masterpiece.”

Merrill made a happy sound and Hawke laughed. “Merrill read your book you know,” he said, smile teasing but Merrill only noted and grinned.

“I did,” she chirped. “I cried.”

“Oh god, don’t say that to him,” Anders groaned. “His head is big enough already.”

Varric though, just grinned and took her hand across the table, kissing the back of it. Anders groaned again and Hawke leaned forward, quickly reclaiming Merrill’s hand. “Always a pleasure to hear people enjoyed my work,” Varric said, leaning back smug. “So Merrill, Hawke said this was your first conference?”

Merrill bounced, nodding. “I’m so excited,” she said, pulling out a program—Anders hadn’t even bothered to check in yet and he had only vaguely glanced over the program on the internet before leaving. Merrill’s already was color coded with highlighters and Hawke beamed like a proud parent. “I saved for a long time, and I want to take as much advantage of this as possible.”

“Honey,” Isabella said, leaning forward. “You’re not actually supposed to go to every session. Your brain will melt.”

“But, they all look so good,” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t possibly miss any.”

“Ah, it’s her first one,” Varric said. “Don’t you remember that overwhelming enthusiasm to see and hear as much as possible before you get old and cynical?”

“No,” Anders and Fenris said at the same time, the second time that day they had spoken together. This time though, they both narrowed their eyes and glared.

“I was never enthusiastic,” Fenris explained after a beat of glaring and Anders actually had the gall to laugh, feeling that glare return to him.

“Now that I can believe.”

“Can you?” Fenris asked, that growl back in his voice and really Anders should have been smart enough to not keep grinning.

“Fen, the only thing you’re enthusiastic about is wine,” Hawke said, subtly trying to cut off the argument at the pass. “You looked dour when you got your first book deal.”

“I can be excited about other things,” Fenris said, turning his head to look at Hawke and Anders was staring at his throat again. “It simply chose not to be. It’s a waste of energy and effort.”

“Oh, _honey,_ ” Isabella said. “We have got to take you out, or, or something.”

Fenris turned back, arching a brow. “Aren’t we out now?”

“Yes, but, dancing or something. Something more fun.”

“I think drinks are plenty fun,” Anders said and Isabella patted him on the arm.

“Yes, but that’s because you often expect sex after drinks,” she said, smirking and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“I think dancing sounds great,” Hawke said, interrupting again. “You would love it, Fen.”

“ _Hawke_ ,” Fenris protested. “I do not enjoy dancing.”

“Aw,” Merrill made a quiet sad sound. “But you look like you’d be so good at it. You’re all, lean and muscle and … you’d just be really pretty.”

Anders pulled Merrill’s cup toward him, tilting it to look at the bottom. “How much have you had?” he asked and she flailed before dragging it back.

“I’m twenty-four! I can drink!”

“That was not my question,” he laughed as Fenris unfroze from his shock and started sputtering.

“Did I say something wrong?” Merrill blinked wide eyes over at him, and Fenris clicked his jaw shut, hunching his shoulders slightly.

“No, honey,” Isabella patted her arm. “He’s just like that, I guess.”

“Like _what_?” Fenris asked.

“You know, pretentious, stick up his—”

“And we’re done,” Hawke said, waving a hand in front of Fenris and Isabella. Fenris still looked like he was about to snarl but Isabella leaned back.

“I mean,” Merrill said into the silence. “You’re really pretty anyway.”

Turning his head, Fenris stared at her as Anders gave up and finally threw his head back and laughed. H thought he heard Fenris mutter something like, “This is far more people than I’m comfortable with as it is,” but he might have imagined that. He didn’t imagine the hand Hawke laid on Fenris’ forearm comfortingly or how soft his eyes had gotten.

“Have another glass of wine,” Hawke offered, as alcohol was the answer to everything in his mind.

“If you insist,” Fenris said, and flickered a smile at him, the first actual, honest smile Anders thought he had seen. It made him irrationally annoyed.

Varric leaned forward, prying Anders’ hands gently off his mug before folding his hands on the table. It was the first Anders had actually realized his knuckles had at some point gone white around the cup. “So, Fen,” Varric said and by the expression he earned it was clear that was a nickname reserved for Hawke only. “How’d you enjoy the flight here?”

“Badly,” he said. “They lost my luggage.”

“Funny,” Varric said, arching his brows in surprise. “So did Anders.”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed. “We met at the luggage counter.”

There was a moment of surprised silence. “Anders, explain,” Isabella said. “You were holding out on us!”

“What? I wasn’t,” Anders shook his head. “I mean, sorta, but not really.”

“You said you hadn’t met before,” Isabella said, leaning forward. “Which is clearly exposed as a lie!”

“We didn’t exactly exchange names!” Anders protested, as Fenris serenely sipped at the new glass of wine that had been put at his elbow by Hawke.

“You didn’t?” Varric asked with a rumbling laugh. “What heathens.”

“I tried to be polite, okay?” Anders protested.

“You _tried_ to hit on me,” Fenris replied and Anders sputtered as Varric roared in laughter, Merrill’s eyes widening.

Burying her face behind her hands, Isabella made a valiant attempt to not cackle. “It’s okay, honey, he hits on everyone the first time he meets them.”

“He didn’t hit on me,” Merrill said, sounding hurt and Anders groaned.

“Or me,” Varric smirked.

“Actually, I sorta did,” Anders muttered. “You were a little distracted and I was a lot drunk. Not sure the words came out right.”

“But, why didn’t he hit on me?” Merrill asked, looking around with wide eyes.

“Because he knows better than to hit on Hawke’s TAs,” Isabella said, patting her arm again, as she had several times that night. “It’s just not done.”

Merrill brightened visibly at that and Anders let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Oh, alright then.”

“However,” Isabella said and smirked. “You hit on Fenris? Because the hilarity of that is going to get me through many dark moments to come—”

“Shut up,” Anders ground out.

“No, no, I’m serious,” she laughed and Varric was making a concentrated effort to not laugh as well, Hawke’s mouth twitching. “The number of times you’ve called me to _bitch_ about him, and how his latest article hurt your poor widdle feelings, and how awful he must be and you hoped he was a fat old man whose students hated him.”

With a horrified huff, Anders buried his face rather than try and see the expression the other man must have been given him.

“Well,” Hawke said into the silence that fell over the table. “In the interest of spreading embarrassment as far as it can go, I’m the one who Fenris called up to snarl and hiss about how stupid and blind a certain contemporary is, and how middle class and privileged his writing revealed him to—”

“Middle class?” Anders head snapped up. “ _Middle class?”_

“Still, it’s better because Anders hit on him, and I’m assuming that wasn’t returned,” Isabella said, grinning wildly still.

Fenris’ eyes narrowed at Anders across the table. “Only someone so horribly middle class could possibly write the drivel you do, claiming that revolutionaries had the right of it and the world would be better off under a socialist utopia.”

“I am not middle class,” Anders snarled, though he felt more like a kitten compared to the depth Fenris’ growls could reach. “Besides, it’s not untrue.”

“Not untrue?” Fenris asked, arching a brow. “Your writing is drenched in revolutionary yearnings, as if communism had never been debunked, as if you could run to the jungle with a gun and change the world—”

“At least it’s better than being an imperialist neoliberal!”

Sputtering, Fenris gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“I feel like this has escalated quickly,” Merrill said quietly.

“That’s what you are, aren’t you?” Anders asked, leaning forward against the table and meeting Fenris’ eyes, noticing the other was leaning toward him too.

“No,” Fenris said. “Imperialist, really? Neoliberals use their ideals to strip industrializing countries of their autonomy, to claim moral high ground for promoting capitalistic and inhumane treatment. Have you actually read a single thing I wrote or did you simply assume because I did not agree with you I must be the opposite?”

“I read it,” Anders managed, blinking. “All of it.”

Fenris made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and waved a hand, like swatting off a fly. “Not very closely. I believe in modernization, not neoliberalism or neocolonialism.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” Anders returned and heard Varric set his glass down, caught Hawke shifting in the corner of his eye but all his attention was on Fenris.

“No,” Fenris snapped. “Have you ever starved?”

“What?” Anders blinked, not expecting the question. Fenris just kept staring him down. “I’ve gone to bed hungry—” he said finally, hands clenched under the table.

“Did you starve?” Fenris asked and something in the back of Anders’ mind clicked, an article read long ago about childhood malnutrition and how small the children remained even to adulthood. Fenris barely came up to his shoulder and he wasn’t even the giant Hawke was.

“No,” he said finally and Fenris leaned back, looking oddly smug. “But I wasn’t middle class either.”

“But nor do you know what it’s like to starve, to be desperate,” Fenris said, folding his arms over his chest.

After a moment, Hawke cleared his throat. “I’m surprised you lost your luggage, Fen,” he said, a not quite subtle yank of the conversation back to its original course. “You came to my house for a month and all you had was a carry on. I can’t imagine you coming to a conference with more than that.”

“A month?” Isabella asked, waggling her eyebrows and Hawke had no qualms with kicking her under the table.

 “Not like that,” he muttered.

Fenris shrugged, burying himself behind his wine glass again. “I did not. The flight was too full of idiots trying to cram their bags where they should not have fit. I was near the front and they had no more room and made me check the bag.” He scowled. “Idiots. Then they lost it.”

“Oh good,” Hawke said, grinning at the disbelieving look Fenris gave him. “Not that you lost your luggage, don’t look at me like that. I’m just glad you’re still living on next to nothing or I’d have to ask if you hit your hit and got a personality change.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and tilted his head back to finish the last of the wine in his cup. Anders tried not to stare.

“So when’s Aveline coming in?” Varric asked and Isabella clicked her tongue.

“Tomorrow, early in the morning,” Hawke replied easily. “You know she doesn’t like pre-game drinks anyway. Though I’m not sure how she thinks this could possibly be worse than arriving off a plane and going right to panel she’s presenting at.”

“How’s Donnic?” Fenris asked, tilting his head.

“Good,” Hawke said. “His physical rehab is going well, though they’re both working long hours. Still making it work though,” he said and sighed. “Ah, at least one of us has made marriage work for them.”

“You kidding?” Isabella scoffed. “I’m going to be single forever, and I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it.”

Varric patted her hand where it was on the table and she scowled at him. “Yes dear, you are.”

“Could you be more condescending?”

“You sure you want to open that doorway?” Hawke laughed, leaning back and he paused, noticing the way Merrill was drooping in her seat, almost half asleep despite the noise. “Alright,” he said, clapping his hands and startling both Merrill and Fenris. “We all have a bright and early day tomorrow, lots of panels to see, and I expect you all to be there to support Aveline.”

“What?” Isabela asked. “Really? You can’t be serious.”

“But police history is so boring,” Anders whined and Fenris arched a brow at him. “I mean, seriously. I get what she’s doing but—”

“I quite look forward to it,” Fenris said, rising. “I’ll see you in the morning, Hawke.”

Once he stood, the others broke up quickly, Merrill stumbling slightly as she stood. “I’m okay,” she said, holding her hands out like she was on a rocking ship. “I’m good. Wow, that was a headrush.”

“Come on,” Hawke said fondly, taking her hands until she felt more balanced. “You can lean on me if you have to. You know, you don’t actually have to try keeping up with how much they drink…”

“Oh, but it seemed so nice,” she said, still staggering slightly but mostly on her own feet. “I’ve never had that much alcohol before.”

Anders and Isabela and Varric all watched the pair leave, Hawke keeping one step behind Merrill. “How long until he realizes he’s in love with his TA?” Isabela asked and Anders groaned.

“Hopefully about three years after she’s finished her dissertation,” Varric said, remarkably calm. “And maybe then some. In the meantime, no one mention it too loudly, it might shatter his fragile denial.”

Stepping into the street, with the other two, Anders eyes caught on a flicker of light. He let Isabela and Varric wonder off in front of him, back toward the hotel before turning to see Fenris standing in the cold night air only in the same black button up shirt from earlier. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked and Fenris just stared at him, a cigarette held up to his mouth. “And you smoke too. Just brilliant.”

“You do not?” Fenris asked, almost amused.

“No, because it’s awful,” Anders said but stepped closer to, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “Seriously, it’s getting cold out.”

“I am fine,” Fenris said, holding the cigarette away from Anders, like he was trying to be considerate.

“Those things are supposed to kill you,” Anders said. “And they smell awful.”

“Is that concern?” Fenris asked. “Funny. You and I do not know each other well.”

“I can’t be concerned for the well being of strangers?” Anders asked.

Fenris tilted his head back to stare at him. “You are not the altruistic type,” he said. “Was there something you actually wished to say away from the others?”

“No,” Anders said and almost immediately opened his mouth again. “I grew up in foster care, you asshole.”

Something flickered in Fenris’ eyes and really, Anders thought, they were so unfairly green. “How much have you had to drink?” Fenris asked instead of saying anything.

“Enough to still know better,” Anders said and leaned down and dragged him into a kiss anyway.


	3. That I'll Take as a Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for: Making bad life decisions after drinking too much which leads to possibly dubious consent.

Some conference venues tried to be inviting, to hide the fact that by nature they were transient places that hundreds to thousands of people waded through yearly. They put out nice but simple chairs upholstered like hotel rooms, actually changed the bulbs in their lights to be warm and had coffee near the elevator.

This convention hotel was not one of those places.

Anders winced as the florescent light hit his eyes, wishing he had bought a hat or at least sunglasses between the airport and hotel the afternoon before. “You know,” Isabella said, sliding in to the seat next to him at the breakfast buffet. “You’d think by now with the drinking, you’d be used to hangovers.”

“You’re one to talk,” he sulked and she grinned, eyes covered with wide sunglasses.

“And the best thing is, no one will be able to tell when I sleep through Aveline’s panel,” she said, pushing the shades up more securely.

“I’ll know,” Anders said. “Especially when you start drooling or talking in your sleep.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Isabella said primly, digging into her plate loaded with bacon and eggs. Anders had long since stopped trying to understand how she kept her figure.

“When your arteries clog and your heart stops, I won’t do a thing for you,” Anders muttered, pulling the coffee closer to his chest and cradling it there for a moment.

Isabella laughed, dumping salt on the eggs. “Oh, look who finally arrived,” she added as Aveline walked in, looking stiff and uncomfortable with her cane as usual, and Donnic standing slightly behind her. “Oh, it’s the double act. I’m surprised. Significant others almost never come to conferences.”

“He’s her husband,” Anders muttered. “Besides, he probably doesn’t have that much to do with his shoulder and back so messed up. You know, it keeps him from perpetuating the system of oppression he stands for.”

Snorting, Isabella shook her head. “Fucked up body or not, I dare you to say that to either of their faces.”

“I’d much rather not,” Anders said and he held his breath when Fenris entered the room, head moving from side to side as he surveyed the tables, eyes skipping over Anders.

He was trying not to breathe and give himself away to Isabella with the hitch he fully expected to come at the sight of the other man. The other man who had not only allowed Anders to kiss him the night before, but who had dropped his cigarette and curled his fingers into Anders’ hair.

Fenris, it turned out, kissed with his whole body, and Anders’ hands wrapped around his hips like it was the most natural place in the world for them to be. When Anders moaned, Fenris grinned and that was all Anders needed to shove him into the wall of the bar they had been at, crowding against him and pushing his shoulders into the bricks.

His reward was a growl.

“Get back to the hotel,” Fenris snarled and Anders blinked at him.

“What? Are you—” he started to ask until Fenris snarled again, pushing him away enough to start stalking away. He turned when he realized Anders wasn’t following.

“Are you not coming?” he asked and Anders launched himself off from the wall, nearly tripping on Fenris’ feet on the short walk back. Even the chilly air did little to clear his head until he heard Fenris rummaging around for his hotel keycard as they walked through the lobby, Anders still blindly following.

“Haven’t you had… like, four glasses of wine?” Anders asked, leaning an arm against the wall above the elevator button, Fenris between him and the wall.

“You were counting?” Fenris asked as the elevator opened and he slipped under Anders’ arm and inside the mirrored elevator.

“That wasn’t an answer,” Anders said, jamming the close door button until it complied and he dragged Fenris toward himself again, the kiss sloppy and brief because the door pinged open again.

Fenris actually looked amused as he slid out from around Anders, holding a hand out to pull him with him. “I grew up in the Soviet Union, four glasses of wine is nothing,” he said and Anders blinked at him. “For you, however…”

“I wanted to end up here before the alcohol,” Anders said, as if that made a difference. “I hit on you in an airport.”

“You did not know my name then,” Fenris said and Anders kissed him against a hotel door which he hoped was Fenris’ as he stopped in front of it.

“Please,” Anders said and that seemed to be enough.

Which was really no reason for him to be so angry when Fenris sat down next to Donnic, managing to completely snap him out of his hazy and content memories of pulling pieces of black clothing off Fenris’ body and rolling both of them around the bed.

“I am surprised to see you here,” Fenris said, his voice still sounding rough from sleep and his eyes warm when he looked at Donnic.

A lot like how he looked at Hawke.

 _Fuck_ , Anders told himself viciously.

Donnic laughed, shaking his head as Aveline stood, making awkward small talk with another historian who would be on the panel with her. “I know, but, I thought it might be nice to go somewhere else, explore the city while she’s doing conference things. Besides, this paper means a lot to her. I wanted to be here for support.”

The corners of Fenris’ mouth twitched. “And this is why I call you a good man. I am glad to see you.”

Turning his head slightly, Donnic seemed to catch the glare Anders was giving him out of the corner of his eye. “I’m glad there are some people willing to think so,” he said and Fenris did not appear inclined to follow his gaze.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked instead. “I hear the physical therapy has been going well.”

“Yeah,” Donnic nodded, polishing off the last of the food on his plate. Anders tried not to notice that Fenris only had coffee in front of him. He tried not to think about the arch of Fenris’ spine or the thinness of his waist. At least he could feel muscle under the skin and not Fenris’ ribs. “I should be able to go on active duty again soon. It was bad but nothing like,” and his gaze went to his wife, who still walked with a cane and had been off the police force for years. “I mean, the paperwork hasn’t been impossible but I’m not like you people, who seem to _like_ paperwork,” and Fenris actually chuckled.

“Are you paying attention to me at all anymore?” Isabella asked and Anders pushed away from the table to go fill another plate at the buffet.

Aveline turned around at that moment, sitting next to her husband. “Fenris, it is good to see you.”

“And you,” Fenris said, his voice serious again.

“I hope you’re not here to get any more gambling debts from my husband,” she said and there was that low chuckle again.

“What gambling?” Fenris asked, far too innocently. “We never have played cards together, nor owed each other money.”

“You’re lucky I’m so fond of you,” Aveline said, and Anders turned to catch Isabella making a shocked sound. “Would you like to join us for dinner tonight?”

“I would certainly,” Fenris said, and Anders almost dropped the plate with a pile of fruit and a lonely croissant in front of Fenris, who blinked and startled back, wide eyes going up to Anders. Donnic and Aveline, if possible, looked more surprised.

“You were planning on actually eating this morning, weren’t you?” Anders asked and Fenris opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again.

“Perhaps,” he said and Anders planted himself next to Fenris, unsure what he was doing there. Last night—or possibly in the very early morning—Anders had ridden Fenris, watching him writhe and make tiny gasping sounds, white hair everywhere around his head on the pillow and sticking to his forehead. It was, honestly, one of the most beautiful sights Anders had ever seen.

But that did not change the fact that this man had been frustrating him from a distance for years, he was still standoffish, brutally blunt and the type of person Anders had no interest in spending time with—unwilling to dance, a smoker and he drank wine at a bar. He could list flaws already for pages.

This did nothing to explain why he was angrily shoving food at him the morning after, or why he had stormed out of Fenris’ room in such a huff because Hawke had shown up in the early morning light. At the sound of the knock, Fenris shuffled him into the bathroom, with the excuse, “If it’s Hawke he’ll pry,” which Anders accepted as true, though he had not actually expected Fenris to answer the door with, “Hawke. Good morning.”

“Oh, you’re not dressed yet,” Hawke said cheerfully and Anders looked around the generic hotel bathroom, idly toying with the towels. He could hear the crinkle of a shopping bag. “I figured as much. I bought you clothes.”

“Hawke,” Fenris started.

“I figured you hadn’t actually bought any since you lost your luggage because you’re sorta just stupid that way. And no, ironing the clothes you wore on the plane and wearing them again is not acceptable, nor is washing them in the sink and hanging them to dry and then ironing them—even if most of your clothes look the same it’s the principle of the thing!”

“I do not need you to buy me clothes though,” Fenris said and Anders felt like he was intruding on something far more private than he wanted to be.

“It’s a gift,” and the bag crinkled again. “Besides, I remember both your size and your tastes.”

“I do not like gifts,” Fenris muttered, surly.

“It’s okay to own things,” Hawke said, softly. “It’s okay to accept people giving you things.”

“How much am I going to have to accept you giving me?” Fenris asked and Hawke laughed.

“Lots more, you’re not rid of me yet,” he said, voice bright and large for the small hotel room. “Now take a shower and come down to breakfast. And try not to get in any fights with Anders before, you know, the first panel.”

“We,” Fenris started and the door closed. “We did not get in that many fights last night,” Fenris muttered and Anders poked his head out of the door, false smile already in place.

“Anyway, thanks for everything, I need to go take a shower,” he said and Fenris blinked at him until Anders closed the door in his face and all but ran for his own hotel room.

That probably explained why Fenris was looking at him in such surprise now before he hesitantly picked up a fork and began to poke at the fruit. “Pineapple?” he muttered before shoving that to one side and carefully cutting the cantaloupe into smaller pieces with the side of his fork.

“At least it’s not fish,” Donnic offered and Fenris flashed a glare at him before bowing his head over the plate again. Anders got distracted by the exposed skin at the back of his neck.

“So this dinner,” Anders said, and he could feel Isabella staring at him as Varric sat down beside her. “Is it just you guys or is it open to everyone?”

“Everyone?” Aveline asked. “You would want to come?” and now everyone was staring at him.

Luckily he was saved by Merrill staggering in. “Oh, my head,” she groaned, sinking down beside Isabella. “It has never hurt like this before. God, what are those lights? Are they demons?”

“Just shitty hotel lighting,” Varric replied. “Didn’t you get a hangover when you turned twenty one or something? Shouldn’t this have happened to you before?”

“I was a very responsible student,” Merrill said, accent making her voice sound even more prim. “I had a test the day after my twenty first birthday, and always too much work to do.”

“You should never have met Hawke,” Isabella sighed, but it was clear she was trying not to laugh.

“Hold on, I’ll get you my special hang over cure,” Varric said, pushing himself back to his feet and passing Hawke in the doorway.

Donnic turned back to Anders, Fenris not having lifted his head yet. “You can come, if you like,” he said, hesitantly as Hawke threw himself down on the other side of Fenris, a hand resting along his shoulders. Fenris twitched slightly but didn’t push Hawke away or slide out from underneath him.

“Come where?” Hawke asked brightly.

“To dinner,” Aveline answered, pained. “Apparently it was an open invitation.”

“Oh, does that mean I get to come too?” Isabella asked with fake sweetness and Aveline narrowed her eyes.

“Where are we going?” Merrill asked, brightening slightly. “Will it be somewhere nice? Oh, should we dress up?”

For a moment there was dead silence, everyone seeming to silent calculate what they had to wear or how much money they had to spare. “You mean more than you already are?” Isabella asked. “Professional wear isn’t enough for you?”

“Well, but that’s different than actually dressing up,” Merrill said, a shade less brightly.

“I can’t even imagine how you would dress up,” Aveline said, tone cold as she looked at Isabella who scowled at her.

“Now, that I’ll take as a challenge,” she all but growled. It was a very different growl from Fenris.

Varric appeared at Isabella’s elbow. “What’s a challenge?”

“Apparently,” Hawke said. “We are all going out to dinner. Merrill wanted it to be somewhere nice with fancy dress.”

“Will you dress up?” Anders asked Fenris who paused before he finally looked up, frowning at Anders. Hawke also appeared interested in the answer, hand cupping Fenris’ shoulder now. Fenris’ shoulder twitched but again he made no more to throw Hawke off.

“Did we all decide on a nice dinner with dressing up?” Fenris stalled and was greeted with several affirmatives, though Aveline looked less pleased than she had earlier. “I,” he paused, swallowed and shrugged, movement constrained by Hawke’s arm. “I suppose I’ll have to.”

“We’ll need to go shopping then,” Anders said and Fenris whipped his head around to stare at him. “What? We both lost our luggage, didn’t we?”

“I’ll chaperone,” Hawke said brightly.

“And we,” Isabella said, knocking Merrill’s shoulder with hers and getting a quiet moan in return as she jostled Merrill’s head. “Will have a girl’s shopping trip. During the last panel of the day, none of those are good anyway.”

“But,” Merrill started and then gave in. “Alright. That sounds lovely.”

“I’ll throw my lot in with the girls,” Varric said.

“That’s because you have way more women’s fashion sense than any man should live with,” Isabella said. “Which is weird, considering what you wear. I will accept your bid to accompany us, however.”

“Try to make sure whatever she picks out actually covers both her boobs and her bottom,” Aveline said.

“Well,” Hawke said, bounding up and stealing the pineapple off of Fenris’ plate. “It’s just about that time. Let’s go, let’s go, the first panel awaits us.”

Donnic squeezed Aveline’s knee before she stood, readjusting herself and her cane before following Hawke, the others falling more or less in line.

Except Anders, who went to get another cup of coffee, Fenris trailing after him for the same reason. “This coffee is terrible,” Fenris muttered, even though he took a large swallow of it. If Anders had been fascinated by his throat the night before, he was even more so now.

The room was still full of other people eating breakfast, though many of them were making their way out of the doors and their corner was remarkably empty. “Hey,” Anders started but Fenris cut him off.

“I am not… good,” he said, hesitant and he looked down rather than at Anders, his overly long bangs covering his eyes. “At affairs like this, or one night stands. I do not…” and he cut off abruptly when Anders put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he said, with too much punch. “I’m good enough at them for the both of us.” He had time to see Fenris’ eyes widen and his mouth open in shock before he turned, hand sliding off Fenris’ shoulder and all but running for the door. 

Fenris had actually looked betrayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing the chapter like this seemed like such a good idea in theory, I'm not sure in execution. 
> 
> I LIVE FOR THE FENRIS AND AVELINE AND DONNIC DYNAMIC. 
> 
> The first conference was only supposed to be a small part of the story but it keeps coming up with more and more ideas and horrible things to do.
> 
> Comments will be given a good and loving home.


	4. It Can be a Conference Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has responded to this fic so far you are amazing and it has made me just so, so happy (though I'm behind in replies ilu all and am so pleased).
> 
> (Also, as a disclaimer: I do not always agree with the things my characters say, especially in certain historical debates and on certain issues, such as the legacy of communism, the police force, or history in general. This applies to the whole fic as some more of those conversations will probably be coming up)

By the time they found a store that Fenris and Anders could both agree to even stepping foot into, Hawke seemed to realize that Something Was Going On. Anders felt justified in capitalizing that sentence because once Hawke cottoned onto something happening, he would not let it go until he figured out exactly what that something was.

Which put Anders in an awkward place he did not want to be.

“You can’t just wear black,” Hawke said, for the tenth time, holding up a dove grey shirt.

“I like black,” Fenris said, a stubborn set to his shoulders.

“Yes, and you look _very_ good in it,” Hawke said. “And it suits your personality. But the point is to dress _up_ , which means wearing something different from what you normally wear, and no, _throwing a black vest over your black shirt does not count._ ” Fenris’ jaw clicked shut audibly.

Anders was impressed that Hawke could predict exactly what Fenris has been about to say.

“You could always wear purple,” he offered, and Fenris’ eyes flashed toward him before dismissing him again. As he had been since they left together, Hawke pulling them out of the last panel with a cheery grin. Anders probably deserved it. He didn’t much like it.

Especially since he kept wanting to lick Fenris’ jaw, touch his chin, and actually focus enough to trace all his tattoos. There had been so many of them, more than he had expected before he pulled off Fenris’ clothes. And he had been so punch-drunk on touching this forbidden gorgeous creature that he had all but failed to take advantage of them.

Something he was kicking himself for now.

“Green,” Hawke offered and Anders moved his eyes away from the curl of white peeking over the back of Fenris’ collar. “It would bring out your eyes.”

Anders hated Hawke for that image. “What about red?” he blurted and Fenris closed his eyes. Even Hawke’s expression turned ugly for a moment and there was a story there that Anders just did not know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to but the fact he didn’t burned.

“I will not wear red,” Fenris ground out and Hawke sighed.

“I’m serious about the green. A tie, even. Anything, Fenris, we’re desperate here.”

“Why?” Fenris asked. “It is silly to begin with. To dress up—we dress up enough already as professors.”

“But it’s not dressing up for joy,” Hawke said and Fenris just stared at him. “Yes, I know, it’s a foreign concept. Anders here is a peacock though, you explain it.”

“Peacock?” Anders asked, snapping his attention back to the conversation and away from trying to remember exactly how Fenris’ tattoos curled around his chest. “I am—Okay, I would be more of a peacock if I could afford it. What am I explaining?”

“Why people find joy in dressing up,” Hawke said and started sliding away. Fenris made to follow and Hawke pointed his finger at his chest. “You stay here and listen. And when I come back you’re going to try on whatever I hand you, got it?”

“Haven’t you dressed me enough already?” Fenris complained and Anders looked at the ceiling rather than Hawke.

“I’m not dressing you,” Hawke said. “Not really. Sorta. You get the final say, but you’re going to at least see what it looks like on you, okay?”

“Fine,” Fenris growled and Hawke was gone behind a rack of clothes. It took Fenris a long moment to turn back to Anders, hands crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed. “So. Enlighten me then.”

“Um,” Anders managed, flustered at being put on the spot. Which really he should have been used to, with students and their curveball questions, but he knew how to handle the spot when it was about the Cold War and whether or not a person could pass moral judgments on the past. He had less idea how to articulate fashion choices to the glowering creature in front of him, especially considering his desire to strip him out of clothing and kiss every inch of flesh that was uncovered in such a manner. 

“This is a waste of time,” Fenris growled when Anders was silent too long.

“Don’t say that,” Anders said, not quite darting forward. “Hey, now, just give me a minute here. I know what to say about the leaders of the Russian Revolution, not why you’d look gorgeous in green.”

Fenris tensed, looking back at him already. “The point was to explain to me the joys of dressing up, not whether or not I would look good in something.”

“Right,” Anders said, too quickly. “Of course. I mean, haven’t you _ever_ wanted to just dress up?”

“No,” Fenris said. “Why would I?”

“Never even a bit?” Anders asked. “Alright, I believe you. There are a lot of reasons people like to dress up though. It makes them feel better about themselves, distracts from what’s going on. It’s nice to feel nice. Or it’s armor?”

“Armor?” Fenris asked, looking vaguely more interested and the line of his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“The best way to hide how awful you feel is to distract people by looking flashy,” Anders said and considered banging his head into a wall for revealing too much again. Even if it felt like common sense it left him feeling vulnerable to say. “Or to disguise the fact you’re poor.”

“Is that why you wear a gold earring?” Fenris asked, cocking his head to one side and Anders flushed, looking away.

“You got a problem with the gold earring?” he asked and out of the corner of his eye saw Fenris shrug.

“No,” he said. “It is simply… different.”

Before Anders could turn back or say anything, Hawke barreled back, several hangers in one hand and other clothes draped on the other arm. “So, no red, but I included purple. Try them on and let us see.”

Fenris scowled again, the expression snapping on his face so quickly Anders wondered if he got whiplash. “And I suppose you would like me to model them for you?”

“Yes,” Hawke agreed with an easy smile. “We’ll wait right here, the fitting room is literally behind you and we are where the big mirrors are.”

“Do you not have to find clothing for yourself?” Fenris snapped.

“Yes,” Hawke agreed again, clapping both hands on Fenris’ shoulders. “But you are a fashion tragedy and require far more attention. Or, rather, we have more practice at this while you are a novice and must be guided.”

“Neither of those make me very happy, Hawke,” Fenris said and Hawke continued to grin, pushing him toward the fitting room.

“Which is why you’re going to try on those clothes and let us coo over you, so I’ll shut up.”

“Coo?” Anders managed weakly. “I’m not—I will not coo. That’s,” and he blushed at the look Fenris gave him, anger and embarrassment wrapped up together until he stalked into the fitting room and slammed the door with more force than such a fine establishment was used to seeing. “Do you have to be such a brat?”

Hawke laughed, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the wall, watching the fitting room door. “It’s fine.”

“He looked pretty angry,” Anders said, hesitantly poking through a rack of jackets nearby.

“If he didn’t look angry, then I would panic,” Hawke said, brushing it off like it was that easy. “So, did you explain the joys of fashion?”

“Sometimes I really don’t know why I put up with you,” Anders muttered.

-0-

“But,” Merrill protested. “How can you not care?”

“Why should I care?” Fenris asked, leaning on the table with his elbows and staring intently at her, his entire focus seeming to narrow on the debate. “Ancient history is just that—it is ancient.”

“But it’s where we come from,” she said, the glitter on her dress catching the light as she moved. “It’s the root of who we are as people, our society, our beliefs. And we know so little about the world that came before us, isn’t it worth studying to find out more?”

“And the last few thousand years have made no difference then?” Fenris asked. “Our humanity has not evolved, has not changed?”

“I’m not saying that, don’t put words in my mouth,” Merrill said, shaking her head. “Alright, I’m sorta saying that, but not really!”

“No more alcohol for you,” Hawke said, sliding her glass away and downing the rest of it before she could stage a rescue. Anders would have laughed but he remained too focused on the way Fenris would move his hands, long white lines standing out against his skin.

“Then what are you saying?” Fenris asked, drumming his fingers on the table once before he seemed to realize what he was doing and stop.

“That it still matters,” Merrill said. “No matter what’s come since, all history matters. Especially that which we’ve lost so much of.”

“So it is better simply for being lost?” Fenris asked and she actually groaned.

“No. Well, maybe. The point is, that we don’t know! We could be standing on top of something great and not even know it! People in the past were not so different from us, but different enough that it matters to still tell their stories, to learn, to understand. Ancient history is the founding blocks of all other history!”

“It is a comforting lie you tell yourself,” Fenris said, with a shake of his head. “To think you can know or understand a people that far removed, that distant from you. To think that it matters anymore. The Greeks? They are a myth that the West tells itself to justify its own actions, to say that their democracy was birthed in such an age as that. It is a comfort, a lie, nothing more.”

“It is more!” Merrill said, slamming her hand on the table. “Stop it, you don’t understand.”

“Oh my god it’s like being back at the conference,” Isabela groaned, rubbing her forehead. “Not that I don’t appreciate two very attractive people arguing with all the passion of their hearts but I can’t handle it anymore.”

Merrill flushed and stuttered as Fenris leaned back in his own chair, arching a brow over at Isabela. “You find arguing attractive?”

“Ah,” Hawke sighed. “Finally the secret to why we never worked out.”

Isabela promptly kicked him under the table. “I can’t say I’m surprised that’s what’s attractive to her,” Aveline said and earned a glare instead of a kick.

Anders simply finished the last of his drink, because while the upscale restaurant was not nearly as nice as a bar, they had goodly sized drinks and he already wanted another one. The drunker he was, the better he felt about staring at Fenris.

“Now, if you wanted to argue with Fenris,” Isabela said, grinning over at Hawke who blinked at her, trying to look innocent.

“And what would we have to argue about?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Make something up. You don’t like his tattoos or something.”

“You would not dare,” Fenris said, wine held up to his face as he looked at Hawke across the rim.

“I would not dare,” Hawke agreed. “However, I’m sure I could bitch about what you consider to be clean.”

“I clean my clothes,” Fenris said, arching a brow and shrugging. “And you would not dare bitch about that in public either.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you swear before, broody,” Varric said and Fenris choked on the wine, sitting up straight quite suddenly.

“ _Broody_?” he demanded.

“Yes, and Anders over this is Blondie and Merrill is Daisy,” Varric said, unperturbed. “What of it?”

“I,” Fenris actually sputtered. “You will not call me that.”

“I think it’s charming,” Anders said, grin wide as Fenris slowly looked at him. “You do rather take yourself seriously.”

“Oh,” Isabela said, grinning. “I suddenly know whose fight I would _pay_ to see.”

“I assume you’re going to say Blondie and Broody,” Varric said as Merrill tilted her head to one side.

“Why Daisy?” she asked.

“Because,” Varric replied easily.

Fenris was watching Anders over the table, cushioned between Hawke and Donnic. At least this time Fenris sat a little to the left of directly across from Anders. “Alright,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face and Anders blinked. “Why not?”

“Now?” Anders asked, head fuzzy and hands feeling heavy and useless on the table.

“Next conference,” Isabela said quickly. “Next year. Actually make a panel of it. A whole production.”

Fenris’ smile only turned more predatory. “Alright,” he said again. “If we really have become that notorious in the field, why not?”

“I’m gonna make banners,” Varric declared as Anders gaped at Fenris, who looked serene, even happy with the way he kept looking like a cat who had hunted the poor canary down. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna film it and be rich, well, richer,” he amended. “It’s gonna be so great.”

“Fenris,” Hawke said softly and Fenris finally broke eye contact with Anders. “Don’t make agreements while drunk, Isabela will expect you to hold to them.”

“I fully intend to follow through with this one,” Fenris said. “You are the one who pressured me to come to more conferences, are you not?”

“Not to get into fights,” Hawke sighed but he slowly smiled.

“It is not a fight, but a scholarly debate,” Fenris said, primly.

“Have I agreed to this yet?” Anders asked, mouth dry.

“No, but you’re about to in a very moving and brave way,” Varric said. “Mostly for the glory and honor and Isabela’s enjoyment, and so on and so forth.”

“Honor and glory?” Anders asked. “Are you serious?”

“Am I ever?” Varric asked.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Aveline cut in. “You’ve been clogging up the journals with your debate long enough. It will be good to get it out in the open, and this conference is one we can all easily attend. I would greatly enjoy seeing it.”

“Can I actually come to that panel?” Donnic asked. “Can I find a way to sneak in?”

“I’ll film it, remember?” Varric said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Still haven’t agreed,” Anders protested and Fenris leaned forward again, his focus completely on Anders and really, his ability to look so intent was just cosmically unfair.

“But you will,” he said. “Why not? A chance to have it all out with an audience.”

Anders almost protested it wouldn’t be all out because he had spent the whole night thinking about sucking hickies onto Fenris’ neck and only that morning he had told a very vulnerable looking man that it was just a one night stand. “Do we get a script?”

“Hell no,” Fenris said and Anders finally laughed, his mouth still dry.

“Well, since you all asked so nicely,” he said. “Who am I to refuse?”

He wanted to do horrible things to Fenris’ smile.

-0-

Anders caught Fenris’ arm on the way out of the restaurant, Varric having graciously demanded the entire bill at the end of the night, to some cheers and several loud protests.

“That is not quite the dinner I had in mind,” Aveline said, shrugging into her coat and handing Donnic his hat as they walked into the lobby.

“It was fine,” Fenris said and she looked him over a moment.

“You look good in green,” she said. “It’s nice to see you in another color.” His cheeks seemed to redden slightly and she smiled, giving him an awkward half hug. “Come down some weekend, will you?”

“It’s been lonely since you moved,” Donnic said. “Less people to not play cards with.”

“I barely moved an hour away,” Fenris protested. “But yes, I will come down. Perhaps for longer over break. Your living room has always done wonder for my productivity.”

“We’ll see you at breakfast before we go,” Aveline said.

“I have silly tourist photos to share,” Donnic said, laughing at Fenris’ wrinkled nose.

“I shall have to endure them then,” he said and the other two left, leaving Anders and Fenris once again at the back of the group. For a moment Fenris only stared at him before he turned to leave.

“Wait,” Anders said, catching his arm before he thought the action through.

“Why?” Fenris asked, and the dark green he wore really was unfair. It was just a button up, Anders reminded himself but the fabric felt smooth under his hand and Fenris had rolled the sleeves up to his elbow again.   

“I have a proposition,” Anders said and Fenris yanked his arm away to walk outside, letting the cold air hit both of them before turning.

“What?” he asked, tense and ready to turn away again. “Is it about the conference next year?”

“No,” Anders said.

“Then I do not care,” Fenris said, turning away and Anders caught him around the waist, plastering himself to his side, whispering in his ear.

“But I’d really like to suck you off,” he said and he could feel the way Fenris froze. “I’ve been thinking about it all—day. All night certainly. You should have gone with the purple it would have driven me less crazy.”

“I did not wear this for you,” Fenris said, and there was far too much venom in his voice. Anders decided he really wanted to know why, but he wanted Fenris back in his bed more.

“No,” he agreed instead. “You didn’t, but fuck, you’re gorgeous and it just—”

“You’re the one who said you were best at one night stands.”

“It can be a conference affair,” Anders pitched desperately and Fenris sucked in a breath. Anders couldn’t stop the small sound of want he made in return. “Please.”

“Foolish,” Fenris said but he turned his head enough that Anders could kiss him.

-0-

When Anders reached his gate the next afternoon, feeling exhausted but still pleasantly wrung out from the night before, he blinked to see Fenris already sitting there. “Same flight again?” he asked, sitting down beside him and tried not to enjoy the way Fenris startled, almost dropping his book. “Seriously? You’re actually reading a journal? It’s the airport, you read trash.”

“I would rather not waste the time,” Fenris said, looking around before going back to his book.

“I wonder if they ever found our luggage,” Anders mused, and grinned because when Fenris bent his head, his hair shifted along his neck just enough he could see a small red mark. Anders had put it there. He felt exceedingly, disproportionately proud.

“I would hope so,” Fenris said.

“You know, since we’re on the same flight,” Anders said. “We could probably ask someone to change seats with us, and sit together.”

“And why would we do that?” Fenris asked, looking up again.

“What, you don’t enjoy my sparkling wit?” Anders asked and Fenris arched an eyebrow at him, when a sudden call distracted them both.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, ploughing through the vacant eyed travelers. “I had to look up your flight number and—oh hi Anders.”

“Hi,” Anders said, feeling a hot twist in his stomach. He had walked with Isabela through security, as most of them were leaving around the same time to get back to work in time on Monday. There was no reason Hawke shouldn’t be there. Fenris had already leapt to his feet at the sight of him.

“That is,” he started and Hawke pulled a small envelope from his pocket, handing it with a flourish to Fenris, who flushed and looked inordinately pleased at the same time. “Unnecessary,” he finished anyway. “Thank you.”

“You thought I forgot,” Hawke said, with a grin that had its usual edges worn off with affection. “You should know by now, I don’t forget my own traditions.”

“How could I forget that?” Fenris replied and Anders felt like he was watching a play, or people speaking in code.

Hawke turned his grin finally on Anders. “Have a good flight,” he said. “Mine’s boarding, oh, probably like now. Try not to crash the plane or something.”

“How could we?” Anders called after Hawke, as he was already moving. He glanced at Fenris, who was still looking sappy at the plain envelope, his name written on it in Hawke’s blocky capital letters. “So what is it?”

“None of your business,” Fenris said, tucking the envelope in his book and sitting back down.

“Do you want to sit together then?” Anders asked and Fenris considered the wall across from them, where a board flashed departures.

“Assuming someone would be willing to switch,” Fenris said. “Is this part of the conference affair?”

“As much as it can be in public,” Anders agreed, breaking his own rules.

“Alright,” Fenris said. “We are not discussing our writing though.”

“Agreed,” Anders said, patting Fenris’ knee and noticing the way he seemed to twitch back, but much like he didn’t push Hawke away, he allowed the touch.


	5. I'm pretty sure it's not ever going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been... about three and a half years since my last transmission. But I got hit with feelings today and well.
> 
> One reason this was dropped for so long was because i was depressed I wasn't going back to grad school. Ironically almost the instant I finally decide I really am going to try and go back to school... the muses returned. Funny how that one works but it was sorta my own fault for starting an academic au right after graduating.

Anders riffled the pages of the journal, going back to the start of the article and reading it again. Before his eyes landed on the last word for the second time, his hand dialed Hawke’s number.

“Hello?” Hawke asked from the other end, on the other side of the country.

“Did he write this before or _after_ the conference?” Anders demanded, phone jammed between his ear and shoulder as he flipped through the pages again. They were started to crease with how tightly he was holding the pages.

There was a pause, when all he heard was Hawke breathing before Hawke abruptly started laughing. “I'm in office hours,” he said, wheezing.

“I don't fucking care,” Anders said. “Is there a student in front of you right this instant?”

“Not precisely,” Hawke said and there was a faint clanking sound, like he had jammed the phone between his ear and shoulder and started typing.

“Then answer the question,” Anders said, and he was on the title page of the article again. It was only a few pages, stuck at the front of the journal and yet it made his blood boil.

“You know, we're not actually attached at the hip,” Hawke said. “In fact, we live in completely different towns now. I can't precisely tell you everything he's thinking or when he's thinking it.”

“It's literally about me,” Anders growled.

“I don't remember him dedicating it to you,” Hawke said, voice sweet on the other end of the line.

“He didn't have to,” Anders said. “It's all about—personal bias in articles and the role of the unsaid and I called him a fucking neocolonialist to his face, of course it's about me. I just want to figure out if it was a shot fired _before_ we met in person, or after.”

There was another few clanks and then momentary silence. “Say, you gonna ever tell me what went on between you two at the conference?” Hawke asked and Anders almost hung up the phone in panic then and there.

“Uh, what?”

“You know,” Hawke said. “Something was up. I didn't press it at the time but now I feel like maybe you should explain?”

“Why?” Anders asked before he thought too much on it. “Are you jealous something might have happened?”

There was a pause that went on a shade of too long. “Why would I be jealous?” Hawke asked, carefully articulating each word like he couldn't quite parse it out.

Anders let out a frustrated breath, finally setting the journal down. “I'm not—stupid, or blind, Hawke. You're in love with him, and he let's you—”

“Fenris and I aren't in a relationship,” Hawke said, still careful. “We have never been and while I try to avoid saying things will never happen, I'm pretty sure it's not ever going to happen.”

“Why not?” Anders asked. “Do you think he doesn't adore you or something? I've never known you to be insecure and—”

“Anders, you don't really come back from someone offering you sex for saving them from homelessness,” Hawke snapped, something raw and vulnerable in his voice and Anders froze, playing the sentence back in his mind several times, Fenris' exhaustion when Hawke showed up with new clothes for him, the stupidly flattered smile Fenris had gotten when Hawke had simply handed him what looked like a handwritten card.

“What?” Anders settled for.

“Oh look a student walked in, bye,” Hawke said and before Anders could yell at him he hung up the phone.

“Son of a bitch,” Anders groused at his phone.

He picked the journal up again, considering the first paragraph of the article before he tossed it down beside his computer and spent the next hour researching a conference he almost never attended instead of editing his own article.

-0-

Later that night he pulled Hawke up on video Skype the instant his username clicked on.

“Anders, I'm cooking dinner,” Hawke said, but he had answered. “I literally just opened my computer to check my e-mail.”

“Should have used your phone,” Anders replied and Hawke rolled his eyes. “You hung up on me.”

“A student did walk in,” Hawke protested, and he left the screen up as he turned away from the computer and turned his stove on. “And I don't know how you run office hours, but it wasn't really a topic for a student to overhear.”

“Uh-huh,” Anders said, and he had another journal and a pen in one hand as he leaned back, putting his feet up on the desk.

“So why'd you call back?” Hawke asked.

“You're joking right?” Anders asked. “You hung up on me.”

Hawke gave him a quelling look even through the screen. “I'm not really going to lay out my past with Fenris here.”

“You said he tried to sell you sex in exchange for not being homeless?” Anders asked. “You really can't just drop that on me, Hawke.”

“He didn't try to _sell_ it, he just offered it,” Hawke said and he paused, rubbing a hand over his eyes before he turned all the way around to face the computer. “Look. You haven't told me what happened at the conference so I don't know why you expect me to answer any of these questions. You weren't even this obsessed with him when he published a play by play take down of your fucking _book_ a few years ago.”

Anders twisted his mouth and signed, looking at his ceiling instead of the computer screen. “Okay. So. We had drunk sex.”

“You had drunk sex,” Hawke repeated. “Okay, I'm not saying I didn't expect _something_ like that but I admit I'm still totally surprised by those exact words.”

“And then we had less drunk sex,” Anders said, still looking at the ceiling.

“And how, exactly did you swing that?” Hawke said, and there was some anger in his voice, a protective streak Anders should have seen coming a mile off. “Because as far as I know him, Fenris isn't really interested in casual sex.”

“He said,” Anders said. “I, uh, can't really get a handle on his mind? I told him it could be a conference affair and he, I guess, agreed to that? The second time anyway?”

Hawke sighed. “You're so stupid.”

“I resent that,” Anders muttered, pretending to go back to his journal.

“But you're obviously not over it or you wouldn't be calling me to try and figure him out,” Hawke said, going back to chopping onions. Watching Hawke make dinner was starting to make Anders hungry.

“I may have just signed up for another conference,” Anders said and Hawke turned his head to stare at him. “I sorta don't have his phone number.”

“I can promise you he's not going to be going,” Hawke said.

“I thought I could ask him if he wanted to,” Anders said.

“You want to actually make this a multi-conference affair?” Hawke asked. “Is that honestly what I just heard?”

“I'm considering it,” Anders admitted, because he didn't want to admit how much he had thought about Fenris since getting home, his half smiles, his dry humor, the arch of his throat and the rasp of his voice. He also realized how hard it was to find information on Fenris, his department biography barely a few lines, and almost all the pictures of him on social media were locked, except a few with Hawke Anders had never seen before. He really should wade through the insane amount of memes and rants Hawke posted more often.

“Right,” Hawke said after a beat. “Well, I can't really tell you how he'd react to that since I was pretty sure he'd never sleep with you to begin with.”

“Thanks,” Anders said.

“It's not personal,” Hawke said.

Anders paused, watching Hawke through the computer screen for a moment. “Do you really think you'd never, you know, want a relationship with him? It's just—he doesn't react to you like he reacts to other people. That much is obvious, even after a few minutes.”

“I feel like you're fishing.”

“I am,” Anders said. “Obviously. I admit I'm curious is all.”

Hawke sighed, setting his knife down, apparently done chopping vegetables. “Look. His life is his to tell you or not. I'm not going to be throwing around his secrets or anything so don't even ask, bring it up with him. Hopefully more tactfully than you've brought up anything with me. But we met at the wrong time for something like that. He was just getting his feet under him from a really, really bad situation, and he thought I just wanted to use him like everyone else had to that point. I didn't. Yeah, I love him, but I'm happy with the way I love him _right now_ , and I don't have to sleep with him to have that.”

Hawke gave him a look before he lifted up his cutting board and poured all his vegetables into the pot of water. “I know love without sex is still a bit of a mystery to you.”

“Hey, I do get it,” Anders said. “I have friends after all.” His mouth twisted, a bit unhappily. “But yeah, okay, I still don't get loving someone that much and not wanting to sleep with them.”

Hawke shrugged. “He moved for his PhD anyway and moved even further away since then. Careers, you know.”

“Not interested in a long distance relationship?” Anders teased, because he already knew the answer. Hawke had shot him down cold once before, after all.

“Not the type of person who could make it work is all,” Hawke said. “So. Anything else you want from me?”

“Not going to give me the protective speech about sleeping with one of your best friends?” Anders asked.

“Uh, Anders, you're one of my best friends too,” Hawke pointed at him with his laddle.

“Yeah but—”

“You're both adults, aren't you?” Hawke asked. “How about I ask the both of you to not mutually fuck it up?”

“Yeah, sure,” Anders said with a shaky laugh. “We're both adults here, like you said.”

Hawke narrowed his eyes at him. “Okay, that being said. I will actually hurt you if you fuck this up just because you're an idiot. Keep in mind I don't _think_ you're just an idiot, but you really tend to self-sabotage yourself with your insecurity.”

“Hawke, I'm almost up for tenure,” Anders protested. “I can't sabotage myself _that_ much.”

“When it comes to other people,” Hawke intercut smoothly. “And how much they care about you as a person.”

Anders wanted to sulk at him for that, but he still wanted Fenris' number more. “Okay, fine. I'll do my best. His number...?”

“I'll send it to you in a minute,” Hawke said. “Say, are you going to Isabella's party in a few months?”

“Her not a birthday party but honestly a birthday party?” Anders asked. “I thought I might take the train up.”

“It will be good to see people,” Hawke said. “Having friends scattered around the country is hard.”

“At least you still live near Varric,” Anders said but Hawke's laugh was a little shaky when he agreed, making Anders brows shoot up. “Isn't it?”

“Totally,” Hawke said. “Say, I'll catch you later. I actually want to eat all this food I just made. But seriously—be careful with Fenris. He has a lot of issues.”

“Which you're not going to warn me about.”

“Technically I already told you more than he'd appreciate,” Hawke said. “Have a good night, Anders. Remember to feed yourself and not stay up too late writing.”

“Hah hah,” Anders muttered as the call discounted. He waited a few moments, before a message came through with both Fenris' phone number and his skype contact details.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he'd plugged in Fenris' skype username and sent the request. He tried to focus on the journal in his hand and not wait breathlessly to see if Fenris even accepted his request but after a few seconds a message came through saying it had been accepted. He instantly dropped the journal and hit video call.

And like a miracle that was answered too. “Hello?” Fenris asked, and Anders couldn't see much behind him except a neatly organized bookcase, his face thrown into harsh relief by the lamp next to his computer.

“Hey,” Anders said.

Fenris blinked at him through the screen. “What—”

“I pestered your contact information out of Hawke,” Anders said, cheerfully and Fenris frowned at him.

“Why?”

“You know the conference, put on by that Eastern European historical association no one wants to belong to but we all do anyway?”

“It's in a couple months, isn't it?” Fenris asked, and he seemed to click over to something else on his screen.

“Yeah,” Anders said. “I don't usually go, I admit, but I was wondering if you might want to.”

Fenris frowned, eyes not focused on him before he slowly slid his eyes over. “What?”

“You know,” Anders said, and his throat felt clogged. “If you want to meet up at this conference in our field.”

Fenris blinked at him. “This is why you got my information from Hawke?”

“Yeah, more or less,” Anders said, and he had to keep himself from drumming his fingers on the edge of his computer.

“Did you... talk about me?” Fenris asked, almost hesitant.

“Not very much,” Anders said, which was partly true but probably a lie to Fenris' mind if he knew what little Hawke had revealed. “He said it was up to me if I wanted to pry into your past.”

“Did he,” Fenris said, not much of a question in his voice.

“So, any plans on going?” Anders asked. “I have this article I've been working on. Think it might benefit from a good conference.”

Fenris was considering him too intently through the computer screen, his eyes dark in the light from the lamp. “I'll have to look at my schedule,” Fenris said and suddenly disconnected the call even as Anders opened his mouth to reply.

For a moment Anders sat there, still staring at his computer screen before he fumbled around his desk to punch Fenris' phone number into his contacts, already planning to pester him over text the next day.

He wasn't sure yet if the night had been a success or just another disaster in his life.

 


End file.
